Alastor's Story
by The Geeky Quill
Summary: Mad-Eye: what you didn't know about him: Set in 1974 with flashbacks to his years at Hogwarts. He had bad parents, a Catholic girlfriend, a baby sister, and good friends named Arthur and Molly Weasley. See into the heart of the man with a rough exterior
1. Chapter 1: It Begins

author's note: This story is set on Christmas Eve 1974.

Alastor's Story

by

The Geeky Quill

Chapter 1: It Begins

Alastor Moody made his way carefully around the perimeter of the house, trudging through the soft snow with his large black boots. A cold silence hung in the air that would not be held off by his long dark muggle coat. His great big blue magical eye visually pierced the walls with its gaze, searching the residence. He grew puzzled and then alarmed. "Damn!" he spat and stomped onto the porch. He pounded his fist on the door. "Mother!" he roared. He impatiently pounded again. He could see her inside, glowering at the door.

She finally rose from her chair and tossed down the book she was reading, _Potions of Youth_. Her fine burgundy and gold Chinese silk robes clung to her slim figure. Her hair remained jet black, despite her years, and was pinned up with several ornately carved ivory combs. Heavy makeup attempted to conceal her age. Of the seven deadly sins, vanity had always been her favorite. She flung a spell at the door and it sprang open.

"I suppose the prodigal son has returned," she cackled.

Alastor's glare was set like stone. "Where are they?" he growled.

"Come in and shut the door. I didn't raise you in a barn." She turned and strutted to the antique sideboard, glimpsed her reflection in the mirror, and turned to eye him with half-mast lids. "Your father is dead," she said bitterly. "And that little monster knew he wasn't taking his healing potion. I know she did, the filthy sneak."

He gasped. "What have you done with her?"

"The brat killed your father."

"She's four years old!"

"Well, she helped him." She pouted unconvincingly. "She helped him let himself die, leaving _me _all alone."

Alastor was about to verbally tear into her, but she collapsed artfully onto the royal blue velvet couch.

"What about me?" she moaned. "How can you come here and persecute your poor widowed mother?"

He had never felt like cursing someone as he did her. All of the Death Eaters in the world didn't stir his ire the way his own mother did. But he stayed his wand hand and surreptitiously watched the house elf quietly go about tidying the room. She'd been his mother's slave for as long as he could remember. Her name was Muk. She wore an old flour sack for a dress.

"Mother." His voice was tense. "Where is Madeline?"

"Don't speak that wretch's name in my house! Not anymore. She's dead." His mother tossed her head dramatically, freeing one comb from her hair. Not an ounce of motherly love did she have for the girl child she brought into the world.

"What did-" he began.

"Oh, shut it! I didn't kill her or anything." Muk handed her mistress the comb that had fallen to the floor. "The monster drank poison," she continued as she went to the mirror to fix her hair. "Maybe she was distraught about father's death, but I tend to think it was an accident. She always was an imbecile."

The only thing that kept him from using the killing curse on her (a spell he had never used before), was that Muk covertly left a scrap of parchment on the small writing table beside him as she passed by. He was surprised at the house elf who had always seemed utterly loyal to his mother. Without reading it, he slipped it into his pocket.

"You were her mother. You were meant to protect her," he growled low.

She made a face like she'd just been offered toad droppings for dessert, but she didn't even look at her son. She continued her preening.

"May God have mercy on your soul," he muttered. Alastor left, never to see his mother again.

_Thanks for reading. Please Review. _


	2. Chapter 2: What Was Lost Has Been Found

Chapter 2: What Was Lost Has Been Found

Alastor walked briskly down the street hoping physical distance between himself and his mother would alleviate his blinding anger. Somewhere he could hear people singing Christmas carols.

_Silent night, holy night_

He stopped walking. Under the light of the moon

_All is calm, all is bright_

he pulled the parchment from his pocket.

_Round yon Virgin Mother and child_

There was an address written in Muk's spidery scrawl. He stared at it for some time.

_Holy Infant, so tender and mild_

He ran into an ally so the Muggles couldn't see him disapparate.

pop

He then apparated into a seedy part of London outside of a small house. It was a squat building of mismatched colors like a patchwork of boards hung together precariously. One of the grimy windows was cracked. He rang the bell and studied the sign which read "Woodshead Orphan Asylum." He shuddered when he peered inside with his magical eye and pulled his bowler hat down lower. Presently, the matron of the house opened the door. She was a middle aged Muggle with sparse brown hair streaked with grey. She wore a simple blue dress with a dingy white apron. Her face looked tired and warn, but her eyes brightened when she saw the strange man on her doorstep. Remember, this was many years ago and Moody wasn't quite so scarred yet. He was actually not bad looking.

"Merry Christmas to ye, sir. Have ye lost your way?" she asked.

Dispensing with pleasantries, Alastor came right to the point. "I've reason to believe my daughter is here." He decided it would be wiser to fabricate a tale more plausible than the truth. A Muggle would never fathom a brother and sister so far apart in age and he wasn't sure he could take the girl if the lady thought they weren't father and daughter.

"S'that so?," she slurred. "Well, come on in then, honey."

The main room had ten tiny beds in two rows. They were the flimsy metal fold out variety and each had a blanket. That is to say, something that was meant to serve as a blanket. They were badly in need of the rubbish bin. The idea of a mending would be a mere flight of fancy. Several wide eyed children watched him. He unsuccessfully tried to look past them without his heart noticing. There she was, crouched on the floor beside the farthest bed. She was smaller than your average four year old. Her mess of coal black hair was badly matted, her dress was torn and dirty, and her face was smeared with grime, dried tears, and snot. This was Alastor's jewel, his baby sister.

He had named her himself. Their mother only called her "monster," or "abomination." Their father only shrugged when Alastor asked what they'd named her and didn't object when Alastor christened her "Madeline," as a sort of affectionate variation of his nickname, "Mad-Eye," and "Esther," after a particularly brave woman in the Old Testament.

She leaped to her feet to go to her brother, but she was stopped short by the rope tying her leg to the bed. He hurried over and crouched down to embrace her.

"Well, ye see, she kept trying to escape...er...run away and it's as cold as...it was for her own protection, ye see," explained the woman clumsily.

Alastor ignored the matron's explanation and passed his hand over the rope, magically untying it without the woman noticing how he did it. There was raw red skin encircling Madeline's ankle. Alastor lifted her up.

Defensively, the matron continued, "She already had the bruises and scratches when I found her on the porch."

He turned to her and swallowed hard. "It's my wife. She's unwell. She's been institutionalized so she cannot hurt my daughter again." The matron began to speak but he continued. "I've been away."

She looked at his attire. "Navy?"

He grunted noncommitally.

"Well, I haven't even had a chance to file the paperwork, what with caring for all of these little darlings all by myself." She petted the filthy hair of a boy who ducked away from her. "And the girl never would tell me her name. Shy little thing," she added with an attempt at warmth.

"It's Mad-" he began.

"I'd just as soon not bother with filing at this point with you collecting her and all!" she said quickly.

He nodded and started back down the row toward the door.

"Eh," she said, smoothing her hair and running her fingers along the neckline of her dress as she followed him. "You don't have to go right away," she said seductively. "The weather's so foul. Ye _could_ spend the ni–"

Disgusted, he walked out the door.

_Later, an anonymous donor supplied the city with a new orphanage building and other items, with the stipulation that a new matron was to be hired. _


	3. Chapter 3: Trust

Chapter 3: Trust

"_Bloody Hell_," thought Alastor, "What am I going to do with her?" He sat down on the step outside the orphanage to think. Tucked inside his coat, warm against his chest, Madeline was quietly content.

It was too dangerous to keep the girl close to him. His life was strung together with a series of dangerous situations and wizards whom he wanted to catch and who wanted to kill him. One bloke in particular was most worrisome. Yaxley was the Death Eater that always eluded him and sometimes it was difficult to tell which of them was the hunter and which was the prey. If Madeline got caught in the cross fire or worse, was made a target... "_Bloody Hell. What to do? Whom to trust_?" Deep creases etched themselves into Alastor's brow as he thought.

The Lupins- He trusted _them_ and he knew they'd help him figure out what to do. Yes, in a heartbeat, they'd help if they could. "_Good folks. They'd had to bear so much already._" Alastor remembered when Lupin came to him in despair right after his son, Remus, had been bitten by Fenrir Grayback, the werewolf. "_Yes, Lupin knew the horror of having your family the target of evil. They bore it well, though. Good kid, that Remus. He was what, sixteen now? Probably home for the holiday_." Alastor gave a wry smile at a Christmas wreath on the door across the street. Then his eyes roamed up toward the sky. "_Full moon_," he thought bitterly. "_They'll have their hands full already tonight_. _But they are a family the way a family should be_. _Like_..."

Suddenly, at lightning speed, the synapses in his brain shot out impulses to each other, met and went out for coffee, causing the proverbial lightbulb to pop on over his head. That fellow he sometimes talked to in the elevator at the Ministry! Arthur Weasley. He was married to the sister of the Prewett brothers. (Alastor knew them from the Order of the Phoenix.) Weasley had two kids. Alastor took particular interest because one of them was just about Madeline's age. "_Both boys, I believe_," he thought. "_A friendly chap, but can he be trusted_?"

"Hold on, lass," he said into his coat. Then he stood with a turn and disapparated.

POP

Please review. It's nice to know that somebody actually reads this stuff.


	4. Chapter 4: Scars

Chapter 4: Scars

Alastor Moody, probably the fiercest auror of his time, found himself_ shaking_ as he stood looking at the crooked little home of the Weasley family and it wasn't because of the cold. He hugged his baby sister to him and trudged toward the house, not bothering to magically clear a path. The deep snow gave him an excuse to proceed slowly. His cautious nature, though not as extreme as it would be many years later, made him more than a little reluctant to trust people.

At the front door, he examined the interior of the house with his magical eye. Some may judge him as rude, but he felt he was merely being vigilant. What he saw was like a picture on a greeting card. He watched the family inside sitting together in front of a cozy fire, evergreen boughs and round ripe oranges decorating the mantel, a tree strung with popcorn and gingerbread cookies. This, he thought, was the reason his schoolmates were always so eager to go home for the Christmas holiday.

His family did not celebrate Christmas. He didn't even understand what it meant until his second year at Hogwarts and his girlfriend, Bridget, told him. He had laughed that all of the fuss was over "some bloke's birthday." His reaction did not deter Bridget from patiently explaining her faith to him. He slowly grew to understand her fervor and even secretly wished he had such strong faith in a benevolent God. "_Bridget_," he sighed almost inaudibly, his breath billowing out in a white puff. "_That could have been us_," was his thought as we watched the Weasleys. Alastor was awoken from his reverie by little Madeline coughing. He lightly kissed the top of her head and knocked on the door.

Guilt swept over him when he saw Arthur and Molly freeze, look at each other, and then at the door. He felt like disapparating. The door swung open and a very surprised Arthur greeted him. "Good evening, Alastor. May I help you?"

Why was is that bursting into a room to capture evil wizards was so much more familiar to Alastor than intruding on good people? He barely found his voice. "Evenin' Arthur, Molly," he nodded to Arthur's wife. He became choked up at the sight of her with her two wee boys silhouetted in front of the glowing Christmas tree. "May I come in?"

"Of course," answered Arthur as he led him into the room and shut the door.

"_This is asinine_," thought Alastor. "_Even if they can be trusted, how can they help? Well, at least it's a warm safe place to think_". Nobody knew about Madeline and nobody would suspect this is where he was. He threw himself and Madeline on their mercy. Alastor knelt down and whispered to his sister, "It's alright, dear." He set her on her own feet, but he clung to him. He looked up at his host. "I didn't know what to do, Arthur." He opened his coat to reveal the small girl. "This is my sister."

Madeline gripped his shirt more tightly and gave a whimper. "Shh, I'm not gonna leave ye," he whispered. "Not this time." They went through this each time he visited his parents' house. The leaving was usually abrupt because their mother had forbidden Alastor to set foot in her home, so he had to leave well before she came home. His father tolerated his visits. His weakness, born of age and infirmity, had softened him somewhat, even if it didn't make him a warm parent.

Alastor sat back on his haunches and let Madeline climb onto his lap, her face still buried in his chest. Arthur crouched down in front of them. "What's your name?" he asked softly, but she wouldn't even look at him.

Alastor answered for her. "This is Madeline." To her, he said, "Beloved, say hello to Mr. Weasley." He tried to pry her off his chest, but she clung fast.

Arthur gave a smile and patted her head. "It's ok, little one." His eyes moved to the auror's face. "Come over and sit down." He led Alastor to a comfy chair. Molly had been standing perfectly still with Charlie on her hip and Bill beside her. Her eyes glistened with slowly welling tears. Arthur took her by the hand and led her to sit beside him on the couch.

"Mummy, who's that?" asked four year old Bill as he tugged on her sleeve.

"Uh," she said feebly.

Arthur said, "Bill, Charlie, this is Mr. Moody and his sister Madeline."

"Hi," said Bill.

"Good evening," said Alastor.

Two year old Charlie just sat on his mother's lap and looked curiously at them, especially the little girl.

"I didn't know you had a sister," Arthur said.

"Nobody did," was the answer. "I've been estranged from my mother since Madeline was born, not that we had a close relationship prior to that. It's just as well. There are a lot of people who wouldn't hesitate to use anyone close to me to their own advantage, if ye take my meaning."

Arthur turned to his wife who was agape, and said in a low voice, "Alastor is an auror and also in The Order-"

"I know," she said quickly with a nod and a frown. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't worry about her brothers who were also in The Order of the Phoenix.

Alastor's list of enemies extended well beyond the, then, small band of Death Eaters, to all of the dark wizards and witches in th U.K., but though he pursued them fiercely, he was not ruthless. When possible, he'd bring even the coldest killers in alive, but nobody called him soft. His skills and determination made him the best. His entire life was devoted to his work. After Madeline was born, he fought even more earnestly. As a medieval knight dedicates each battle to his lady, so Mad-Eye Moody held his wee sister in his heart every moment as he carried out his mission to rid the world of evil.

Unfortunately, the worst threat to her body, mind, and spirit, up until now, had been by their own parents. Now she was finally free of them, but instead of a safe and beautiful world, he had created a hostile perimeter around himself which made it dangerous to keep her close to himself. The irony was not lost on him.

_...Memories of an earlier time..._

_-You don't get it, do you, Alastor? You left me long ago, you and your bloody dreams of being some kind of hero. You can't have a family and also be the "best auror ever known." _

_-I want to fight, Bridget. Is that so bad? Get your head outa the sand and look around. The world is not a pretty place!_

_-It is what we make it. I don't want to marry a man if I never know if he'll come home alive or not. _

_-Bridget, for Merlin's sake, you're marrying that sap, O'Mally!_

_-He's not a sap, Alastor. He's a good man._

_-He's a bloody baker, Bridge_._ How can you leave me for a baker? You used to be proud of me. You used to call me brave. Now you just want cakes and pastries. _

_-I want a family and I can't have that with you. Goodbye Alastor!_

_And that's the last he saw of her until after her wedding. It was never the same. The damn truth of it was, he didn't really feel brave. He wasn't brave enough to risk trying to be a husband and father. That terrified him more than 300 dark wizards, but he couldn't tell her that. He was a scarred man. He was scarred long before his first serious duel in auror school. Now he was losing the only person he ever cared about -the only one who ever cared about him._

_He smashed quite a few things that evening, including his own hand on a very hard oak table, just to keep from shedding tears._

Alastor awoke with a start. It was half past three in the morning and he was reclining in a chair in the Weasley's Burrow with a sleeping Madeline on his chest. The only light in the room was from the glowing embers of the remainder of the fire. He wiped the tears out of his eye and sighed. He sat listening to Madeline's even breathing and watching as the fire gradually died out.

(a/n: Yeah, we saw a bit of this scene in my other story, "Dragon's Fly," but not from Moody's perspective. As the title says, it's Alastor's story. I just wanted to share with you the way I see him. I think there will be maybe just one more chapter. We'll see how it goes. I hope you'll review. That would be very kind of you.)


	5. Chapter 5: The Gift

_a/n: Ok, it's time for me to commit...or to be committed. What house is Moody in? I cannot find that information anywhere and haven't had a chance to call Jo yet. _;-) _So, I'll have to play sorting hat. I had been leaning toward Ravenclaw, but as a tribute to Tonks, I chose Hufflepuff. You know, not everyone has to be in Gryffindor or Slytherin. _

Chapter 5: The Gift

Alastor watched as the liquid sunlight of dawn slowly painted the room with golden hues. It felt surreal. Had he not heard it with his very own ears, he wouldn't have believed it, that last night Molly and Arthur had offered to help care for Madeline. Molly would home-school her along with her boys and Alastor would sneak her back to his house when he wasn't working. He gulped back the guilt that bubbled up. Truth was, he was almost _always_ working.

Presently, Molly shuffled in on stockinged feet with Charlie on her hip. She paused to smile at Alastor and Madeline. The sunlight backlit her face causing her hair to briefly become a golden halo.

"Merry Christmas," she said brightly. Then it really hit him. _This_ is what he was giving to Madeline. He wanted her to wake up and start enjoying it right away.

_In the Hufflepuff common room of Alastor's fourth year, Bridget knelt in front of him with her back to the fire. He was sitting on the carpet with a stack of books beside him. _

"_I wish you'd come too."_

"_Bridge, the LAST place I want to be for the holiday is Dublin," he grumbled._

"_Well," she huffed impatiently, "After your folks move to London this Spring, you won't have to go there ever again."_

"_After my folk move to London, I'll go with you to Dublin whenever you please."_

_She smirked and kissed his cheek. "I got you a Christmas present."_

"_But I don't have anythin' for you," he mumbled._

"_I wasn't expectin' anything. Anyway, I bought this in the Summer and I've been dyin' to give it to ya for so long, so be nice." She handed him a little box. With a sigh, he accepted it. Inside was a small rectangular medal on a silver chain. He lifted it out of the box slowly. "That's Saint Michael," she said. He looked at the figure of the Archangel with a sword held high. "I figure with you wantin' to be an auror and all, he's your perfect patron. I've had Fr. Murphy bless it for ya," she added after waiting for some sort of reaction. She licked her lips uncertainly. "If ya don't like it-"_

"_Bridget, I-" For the first time since he opened it, he looked at her. "I like it fine," he said quietly. She could see in his eyes that he was very moved. She loved his eyes. They always revealed so much more than his words. _

After she put it on him, he never removed it, not even when his mother shot a curse at it that caused it to glow red hot. He still bore the little rectangular scar on his chest from that. At first he kept it on because of Bridget, then later, he kept it on in honor of St. Michael. He'd touch it to silently ask the Archangel to pray for him before entering particularly perilous situations. No, he would never remove it...until now.

"Madeline, dear, I want you to wear this for me." He transferred the holy medal from his own neck to hers. She touches it with her fingertips, then yanked out a hunk of her own coal black hair and held it out for him. He was not phased. "You want me to keep this?" he asked, taking the wad of hair. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. In his pocket, he found a scrap of parchment. It was the one with the address of the orphanage. He expunged the words with his wand, then carefully wrapped the hair in it. He shoved the tiny bundle into a small hole in the lining of his coat. "There, it'll always be with me." He could see a faint smile on her lips.

"I have to go, dear." Her eyes showed panic. "Now, beloved, you know I have battles to fight. You do to." Looking back, he probably should have pointed out to the four year old, that_ her_ battles were only figurative. Actually, some of his were too.

_a/n: Yeah, I know, a four year old wouldn't know what figurative meant. I was using irony. LOL_


	6. Chapter 6: Family

Chapter 6: Family

Arthur followed Alastor outside. He had a sinking feeling that the auror wouldn't be back very soon. "Alastor."

Alastor stopped and turned. He was foisting his problem off on the Weasleys and they were just blindly accepting it. Guilt welled up inside and shame too. "You know, Arthur, when I was a fresh young auror, I'd burst into situations with my wand blazing and you know what I got for it?" Arthur just shook his head, so Alastor continued, feeling that eloquence was never his strong suite. "I lost one eye, nearly lost the other, and good people got hurt." Seeing Arthur look at him blankly, Alastor grunted and went on. "All because I didn't slow down and take a good look at the situation before I went barreling in. Arthur, what I'm trying to say is, you don't know-"

Suddenly Arthur interrupted. "Alastor, Molly and I know very well what we're getting into. We _have_ children and God willing we'll have more." He chuckled, "Having Madeline around won't be much trouble."

Alastor shook his head at the ground and sighed. "You got more guts than I do, Arthur Weasley. I wouldn't have it in me to take on the responsibility of a family." He began to walk down the porch steps.

"But Alastor," Arthur said with an incredulous half smile, "you already have."

After Christmas, Alastor avoided Arthur at the Ministry and he hadn't returned to the Burrow. It had been a month since he had brought Madeline to them. When Alastor came into the Ministry after a mission one day, he had a badly cut hand that wouldn't keep from bleeding despite the charms he kept casting on it. When Arthur overheard the director of the auror department tell Alastor to go to St. Mungo's to get it fixed up and then take the next couple of days off, he seized his opportunity.

"I hear you're off for the next couple of days," chirped Arthur as he walked up to Alastor's desk.

He grunted a yes as he wrapped the blood soaked towel more tightly around his hand.

"Then we'll see you tonight to pick up Madeline. She'll be happy to see you," Arthur smiled.

Alastor avoided looking at him as he gathered up some papers. He nodded and mumbled, "Yeah."

While he was sitting in the examination room at St. Mungos waiting for the healer to see him, Alastor thought about the first time he ever saw his little sister. He had immediately wanted to protect her just as he did now, but he wasn't qualified to raise her...like...like a parent or something. He wasn't trained for that.

..._memories_...

"_Mother, can't you just let nature take its course?" asked Alastor._

"_Are you mad? That's how we got YOU," she answered in revulsion. _

"_Artemisia, please," said Alastor's father feebly from his bed._

_His mother was eleven weeks pregnant after conceiving, with the help of magic, what she hoped would be the perfect son. Being "a bit on the mature side," she was no longer fertile and anyway, she had wanted this one "designed properly." The Acuminous Fetus spell can only detect certain things about an unborn baby, so the fertility charm that she used allows a woman to attach the desired traits to the particular traits that the spell __can__ detect. So, one can, for instance, link a certain talent to, say, eye color_. _If Acuminous Fetus reveals the baby doesn't have the intended eye color, then it probably also won't have the intended talent. _

"_Just look at it already! What good is that ugly eye of yours, if you don't put it to good use? The Acuminous spell isn't entirely accurate and I don't want to terminate this pregnancy if I don't have to. I just don't have it in me to try again. It's turning me into an old hag," she said examining the lines around eyes in her dressing table mirror. _

"_Madam, you are the picture of loveliness," said the mirror." Artemisia smiled at this. _

_She had tried three other times before this one because the spells revealed that the fetuses weren't what she had intended, but the spell may have failed. She was desperate for an accurate assessment of this fetus. _

"_Alright." Alastor begrudgingly consented to look. His mother walked over to the bed and sat down beside her husband who was laying propped on a pillow. He took her hand. She smiled at him with a let's-get-this-over-with look. _

_Alastor looked into his mother's belly with his magical eye. He felt more than a bit awkward. When he had first gotten the eye, friends would tease him about peaking through the clothing of women. The truth was, he used the eye to investigate, track, and assess situations, even to quickly check if someone was alive or dead. He did not "peak" at women, and he certainly never used it to look into a woman's womb, especially his own mother's. _

_It was difficult, at first, to locate the tiny fetus until he noticed the heartbeat. Then it was unmistakable. A human heartbeat! But in miniature! He was lost in the smallness and the newness of the baby. The tiny fingers and toes. A faint smile crept across his face. He was awoken from his reverie by his mother. _

"_Well?" she said sharply. _

_He swallowed hard and went back to his task. A sinking feeling formed at the pit of his stomach. This was a girl. Oh God, no!_

"_What is it?" His mother asked. She had seen the change in his face. _

_He collected himself. "Sorry, just a bit squeamish." He went on, "It's a boy." His voice was steady in the lie. _

_His mother let out a sigh of relief. "That's wonderful. He'll have excellent magical ability."_

"_That's not a given, dear," said her husband. "It had a fifty-fifty chance of being a boy without the charm. Alastor, what else do you see?"_

"_What color are the eyes?" asked Artemisia._

"_Blue," said Alastor._

"_That's the physical strength!" she said excitedly._

_Alastor gritted his teeth at the checklist but he went on. He knew what she wanted to hear and he delivered it. When the baby was born, she'd accept it. Well, that's what he tried to tell himself. _

"_Hair?" asked the mother._

"_I'm sure it hasn't grown in yet," said the father. "Let's just use the spell."_

"_No. I can see hair," said Alastor. "Very fine, just beginning. It's ginger, a very light ginger."_

"_High ambition," said his mother with satisfaction._

"_Such a strong heartbeat," he said quietly. This he said more to himself, but his mother responded._

"_Boldness."_

"_Too much boldness makes one foolish. I don't think that was such a good idea," said her husband._

"_Nonsense," she argued._

_Alastor was mesmerized by her movements in her tiny sac. "Oh," gasped._

"_What?"_

"_Sh...he...he's sucking his fingers." _

_His mother frowned, wondering what relevance this had to anything. _

"_Well, which hand?" _

_Momentarily flustered by his father's question, Alastor looked up. He didn't know what they wanted in handedness. He took a gamble. "Left."_

"_Strong intelligence," his father nodded with approval. _

"_Congratulations." Alastor managed a smile. "He'll be a fine boy to be proud of."_

"_Yes," spat his mother. "Unlike-"_

_Her husband cut her off, "Enough dear." _

_She sauntered out of the room. _

"_Alastor, it's no secret that we aren't happy with your choices-"_

_Alastor had heard enough. "Unfortunately, I have to go," he said. He gently shook his father's frail hand. "Congratulations," he muttered again. Then, he left._


	7. Chapter 7: Hope

Chapter 7: Hope

Alastor Moody stood in his fireplace for a full minute before he tossed the handful of floo powder and uttered, "The Burrow." With a bright_ POOF_ he appeared in the Weasley fireplace.

Immediately little Madeline sprung from her spot on the sofa beside Molly and the boys where they were having stories.

"Ah Star!" she exclaimed, running into his arms as he squatted down to receive her. He scooped her up and stood. Arthur was standing behind the sofa grinning, but Molly was glaring at him.

"Hm, we hardly recognize you. It's been so long," Molly said testily.

"Molly, I'm so-" began Alastor.

"You pop in here as if-"

"Now Molly dear," Arthur put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her.

"Boys, time for bed," Molly clipped, shrugging off her husband's hand. She got up and shuffled her sons upstairs.

Alastor looked helplessly at Arthur. " I didn't mean to cause..." his voice trailed away.

"It's fine. Molly's just feeling a bit...stressed," said Arthur.

Alastor nodded.

...later...

Just as Alastor and Madeline arrived home, an owl delivered a letter. It was from Bridget. He began to read:

_Alastor, _

_The short answer to your question is, Yes, you __can__ baptize her yourself, but what you __should__ do is..._

He stopped reading mid-sentence and looked down at Madeline who simply stood gazing up at him with large doe eyes.

"You can...er...make yourself at home," he muttered. He had known her for her whole life; now, why did he feel awkward? It was one thing to have an opinion about how others cared for her (or didn't) and a whole other thing to be responsible for her himself. He scratched his scruffy chin. "Hungry?" he asked. "Or maybe you're tired?" He lifted her up and carried her to the spare bedroom which was stacked with sundry large trunks and boxes but had a little mattress on the floor. He set her down. "Hmm...You need some pajamas. Wait here." He fetched a large t-shirt and handed it to her. She looked down at the shirt in her hands as if it were an alien artifact. Then she looked up at him.

"I'll just...step outside while ye change." He went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water for her. She sat smiling vaguely on the bed wearing the shirt. It had a drawing of a woman on it and the words "Procol Harum." Alastor had gone to a concert during a sting operation when the aurors were after a rogue group of vampires who had a taste for the blood of teenage muggle girls.

He tucked her in and kissed the top of her head. "Sweet dreams, Beloved."

"Love oo, Ah Star," whispered Madeline.

An involuntary smile crossed his face. "I love you too, Madeline."

He went and sat by the fireplace and flicked his wand toward the phonograph. A record began.

_I see your armour-plated breast  
has long since lost its sheen  
and in your death mask face  
there are no signs which can be seen_

...He lapsed into a reverie of memory from many years ago...

_Bridget tied a veil over her hair, then turned to Alastor. _

"_Bridge, I don't-" he began._

"_Ye said you wanted to do this," she said. She put a reassuring hand on his arm. "It's going to be fine, Alastor. Father Murphy knows you're coming." _

_They blessed themselves with holy water and entered the old church. The smell of incense and candles filled Alastor's nose. A gentle light suffused through the stained glass windows. Father Murphy met them half way down the aisle and ushered them into a side pew. Bridget genuflected toward the altar before seating herself. The priest sat between them. Alastor felt out of place._

"_So," began Fr. Murphy, "why are you here today?"_

"_Father, Alastor has-" _

"_Bridget, my dear," said the priest kindly, "if you don't mind, I'd like to hear what Alastor has to say."_

_She nodded._

_Alastor had been perfectly happy for once, to have her do the talking. He shifted uncomfortably and looked at his hands. _

"_Have you been baptized, my son?"_

_Alastor gave a quick shake of his head without looking up._

"_Are you certain. Your parents-" began Father._

"_No," said Alastor. "They wouldn't have done that."_

"_Would you like to receive this sacrament?"_

_Bridget interrupted, "Of course he-"_

"_Bridget, please," hushed Fr. Murphy. "Alastor?"_

_He nodded. "Aye, Father, if you please. I would."_

_Bridget smiled. Fr. Murphy wondered if Alastor was doing this for God or for Bridget. At the time, Alastor wondered the same thing. _

_..._

Alastor leaned back in his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, and furrowed his brow. He summoned his Bible with his wand but he did not open it. He merely traced the gold lettering with his fingertips and tried to recall the smell of the church.

...

Author's Note: The song quoted is Procol Harum's, "Conquistador" and no, I don't own Procol Harum's music and I don't own the Harry Potter world. I am, however, grateful for their existence.


End file.
